Page 83 of Getting Over You

My sister’s lips stretch thin. “Not theentirething. I haven’t touched your cardigans.”

“As if you’d need a cardigan in mid-July!” I retort. “That’s why you haven’t bothered to steal those, too.”

Mollie shrugs. “You can never be sure.”

“You have plenty of sweaters, should you get chilly.”

She groans. “But yours are better. More comfortable. Worn in like a sweater should be.”

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your breath to make an argument about cardigans that I am certain you won’t need.” I narrow my eyes at my sister. “My cardigans are ‘worn in’ because I’ve got nearly two years on you. That’s two extra years of wear-and-tear, thanks to me.”

Mollie’s eyes flutter, her expression returning to a midpoint once more. “You demanded a FaceTime for a reason, so what is it?”

I move my hair aside, putting the phone close to my clavicles.

“Why are you—wait. What is that?”

I pull the phone away so Mollie and I are face-to-face.

“You got a tattoo,” she hisses. “Last I knew, you hated those.”

“It’s complicated,” I tell her. “I wanted you to see it. I’m proud of it. Sort of.”

She studies my face. “There’s nothing complicated about my sister, who is a creature of safe, safe habit, getting a tattoo? Orwhat about this non-committal sex you’re having? You don’t do that.”

I’ve told my sister all the dirty details, of course.

I bite my lip. “It’s Cade. I’m with him and I… Everything falls away.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Mollie mocks. “You come back to the real world in less than a month, remember?”

I frown, peering at the calendar on my nightstand. Less than a month makes it sound longer than it is. It’s only three more weeks. “I know.”

I have to choose a path soon: put it all out there for Cade and hope he’s feelingthis,too, or letthis be a meaningless—that doesn’t seem meaningless—entanglement that I’m certain I’ll be reeling over for months no matter how this ends.

Lovely.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hold on,” I tell Mollie. “I think one of Belinda’s impulse buys showed up. They may need me to sign or something.”

“Take me,” she demands. “You will not leave me in this room.”

I get myself down the stairs quickly, then set Mollie aside and throw open the door.

“You weren’t answering,” Cade says, holding up a box with two cups perched on it. “So, I brought the Pizza Ice Cream Parlor to you.”

My heart squeezes, warmth rising up to my hairline. I’m so overtaken with joy that I might soar into the sky like a guy on a Red Bull commercial.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say softly. “Sorry. I was… taking a nap.”

I forget that Mollie is still within earshot, since I set my phone on the kitchen counter to answer the door. She laughs, and I scramble to collect my phone from the counter and turn her down before she can do or say anything else.

I slip my phone into my pocket, giving Mollie a view of nothing. She has lost her right to look at the ceiling with that laugh.

“Sorry about that,” I tell Cade. “Belinda.”

Cade’s gaze flicks to his feet, then back up. “Can I come in? Eat some lunch?”

---